


The Shadows of London

by Floris_Oren



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BDSM, Criminal AU, Criminal!John Watson, F/M, Fantasy, John is a cat burglar, M/M, Sherlock is a Brat, Tags will be added, Test Fic, We don't have enough John being a Criminal, description of off scene violence, descriptions of rape off screen, he works WITH Moriarty, new scotland yard, not for him, such as murder, there is a distinction, with a hard on for Sherlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-24
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-11-05 01:59:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17909858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Floris_Oren/pseuds/Floris_Oren
Summary: Sherlock Holmes is on the case of several missing items that the press has attributed to one thief; "The London Shadow". John Watson is an unassuming bloke just fresh "from" abroad. The game is on when Sherlock unwittingly - or not so unwittingly depending on which side of the story you are on - "ruins" a heist.(and the two fall in love, but what else is new?)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I had this HORRIBLE idea when I was bored at work and had been re-reading "The Green Blade". one of the BEST Sherlock Holmes case fic I have ever read. honestly. I am being honest.  
> and this happened. Maybe because I was also reading a bunch of criminal!John fic and decided we hadn't had enough of those either. and i have to get ready for work but decided to see if ANYONE would want to read this. This is a test chapter. I dunno if I'll continue if the interest isn't there.

_ “The Shadow of London has struck again, this time a priceless painting from our very own London museum….”  _

 

Sherlock laid upon his couch staring intently at the ceiling; anyone observing the young man would have thought he was doing what all young men did on a Saturday morning. Lound around in their flat. Obviously. 

 

However, Sherlock is not an ordinary young man. Indeed, he is the world first and only Consulting Detective. And these little incidents around London has him going a mile a minute in his head. Lestrade had called. Dimmock had called. Even a new Inspector had called. And none would listen to him. 

 

Honestly, it was the Cabbie’s death that had brought the Shadow of London to Sherlock’s attention. A man of the Military, a bit shorter than Sherlock himself. Possibly a bit older. Not by much. But still…..he knew the world to a certain extent. 

 

Sherlock blinked; his eyes watered from staring upwards for too long as he had gone through his mind palace looking for clues he had put there months ago. He called the scene of the cabbies death back in grand detail. And as he turned towards the shot. On the other side of two walls - stood a shadow. He hadn’t gotten the best glance. 

 

But, Sherlock knew in that instant that the Cat Burglar and Criminal mastermind had been there - at that VERY moment and had shot the cabbie. Essentially saving Sherlock’s life. 

 

Now. 

 

Question: Why would he do that? 

 

Of course it had to be a man; the things stolen weren’t something a lady thief would find interesting. Unless…

 

Sherlock had found them interesting, and indeed had recovered three of the Shadow’s stolen artifacts. They were for him. He took a deep breath of excitement. Could it be, he wondered, then he got up and started pacing the room. 

 

“Of course,” he said to himself. “How could I have missed it??? It was so obvious…” he frowned. Mycroft would have figured it out by now. He would have known that the Shadow’s games were all to woo Sherlock. But why? Had they met before? 

 

Possibly. Sherlock couldn’t be certain. He met a lot of people, and mostly dismissed them in turn for being slow or boring. But no, this man wouldn’t want to be remembered would he. He would want to be forgotten. Someone…..like him would blend in. Look highly unassuming. 

 

Most people did that without even knowing it; and they wanted to be noticed. Social Media was full of those types of people. They had all suddenly found an outlet for their personal Narcissus’ to consume them. But, not this bloke. 

 

No. 

 

He didn’t want a huge online presence. He would have just enough to look normal. But he would blog about stupid stuff. Things like having an apple for breakfast or some other redundant shite. He was brilliant. 

 

Because he didn’t leave anything behind, and Sherlock wasn’t having the best time of solving many of the cases that he was badgered about. Damn Police. He snarled at that thought. 

 

If only they didn’t keep details from him he could give them bricks for their cases; they would have caught the man some time ago if they had just listened to him. But no. No one wanted Sherlock to find a “rare” item to put on “display” in the hopes that the Shadow would steal it, in turn, leading them straight to him. 

 

Mycroft would have helped. 

 

Their mothers own kitchen spoon had been stolen; and that was when Sherlock knew that the Shadow was after him; He had, of course, entertained that he was after Mycroft. Being the Government and all. Mycroft was a huge target to some degree. 

 

But, the spoon turnt up at Sherlock’s Baker Street Flat; the only one he made public. Mycroft possibly knew about a few of his hidey holes. The one on Melbourne street, possibly. Those were for extreme circumstances. The Shadow did not know about those. Or so, Sherlock hoped. 

 

He would have need of them in the future; if Moriarty is to be stopped; Sherlock doubted he could handle both cases at the same time. Moriarty would not lie low for long. He would come out eventually, and the game would be very dangerous. 

 

Sherlock paced the flat, once, then twice and a third time before sitting down in his black chair; he’s rather wound up. Sherlock sighed. He needed to go out; find the missing painting and get his hands on the Shadow of London. If he could make the man work with him he might have a chance at Moriarty. 

 

~*~*~*~

 

“ _...very own London museum; “The Girl in the window” was painted early in 1608; and the painter is unknown. It’s worth millions….”  _

 

John Watson sipped at his cup of tea and smiled as he watched the news report on the BBC; everyone was going crazy over this heist. And he was very proud of himself for it too. It had taken weeks of planning, and he was afraid that the youngest Holmes would ruin it. But, he hadn’t shown up which meant he hadn’t known about it. 

 

Such a shame; really. After he found the Ming Vase, and the Sultan’s dagger. Both priceless items that John had given up just to keep the Detective’s attention on him. 

 

It was cute that Moriarty thought he could have Sherlock to himself; No, the moment John killed that cab driver, Sherlock belonged to him. Moriarty had acknowledged his claim and dropped all of his games. Sherlock didn’t know this, though, John did have to promise that Sherlock would be staying too busy to chase after Moriarty. 

 

And that was what this heist is about; and that is also why John had the plans to 221b Baker Street spilt about his desk. He had several ways in and out. Now all he needed to do was decide on a time. 

 

He just wanted to see the man up close and personal; he wanted to run his hand through those dark curls. He wanted to wrap a blindfold over those far too seeing eyes. He wanted to wrap rope around that lithe body and make the man beg him. He wanted it to go on for hours and hours. 

 

And that would take a lot of planning. 

 

John smirked. 

 

Sherlock Holmes wouldn’t know what hit him. Only that it would smart his back side a bit. Until it’s a dark red and he’s mindless with the pain. 

 

His phone buzzed; interrupting his fantasy of having the Great Detective at his mercy. John frowns down at his phone. But the message makes up for it. 

 

**_Ready for another heist? Jm_ **

 

He smiled. Indeed he was. 

  
  



	2. A visit to the yard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock confronts his enemies at the yard over a new murder case; meanwhile people are somewhat friendly to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to update this sooner; It just didn't happen because of stress and drama from work. But since I decided to stay up later than usual on my day off I decided to try and write this next chapter up. I actually hate the beginning of this. Please let me know if you like Enola, Mack and Isaac. I decided that Sherlock needed a defense squad.
> 
> * Sharon Tate is the name of a famous movie actress back in the day that was brutally murdered by members of the Charles Manson Gang after going out for a night on the town. It was the first name that popped into my head. So there's a treat for all you true crime fans out there, also, am I the only glad that cunt Manson is dead? he was a crazy dick for sure.

Sherlock swaned into New Scotland Yard the next day; intent on seeing if there was anything of note the Yard had put together. Now, he didn’t get along with most at the Yard. There were, for some reason, a few people were had befriended him. Enola Potter, the desk Sergeant, smiled at him when he entered the lobby. 

 

She’s young with natural dark, curly hair and skin. She’s nice and open but won’t take others bullshit. And a bit protective of Sherlock. He had treated her the same, deducted at her for a few seconds, and she hugged him after. 

 

Enola, thought it was amazing how he knew she had three cats and a dog, loved her grandmother’s perfume so bought it for herself for the nestalgia and how she was a huge Dr. Who Fan due to a necklace her husband had given her. 

 

“I was wondering when tall, dark and smart came in.” she said. Sherlock smiled shyly at her, he isn’t entirely certain what to do about the comment. 

 

“Thank you, Enola, how is Lestrade’s team doing? I hear it’s not going very well.” he changed the subject.

 

Enola rolled her eyes; “and you would be correct. I found the notes you sent the other day in the trash. I fished them out but some of it is unusable because they dumped coffee on it.” she brought out a coffee stained folder. Sherlock took it from her. 

 

“Thank you, I don’t even know why I try.” 

 

“It’s because you do like to let them know what type of idiots they are,” Enola grinned. “I love getting their goat when they start saying shite about you.” 

 

Sherlock gave her a double look; “You do?”

 

“You should know I am all about the drama and don’t do stuff myself. But those people….” she whistled. “It’s astounding, especially since the Mayor told them to take your help whenever you want to offer it.” 

 

Sherlock nodded; “I’m sure that wasn’t very helpful to my case.” he hadn’t been around in weeks, not until the current victim showed up. 

 

“Yeah, forget the painting for now,” Enola said. 

 

“Of course.” Sherlock nodded. She waved him through security and Sherlock - knowing he was dismissed - made his way up to the Homicide division of NSY. He passed ID’s Mack Raynard and Isaac Burns - the two detectives working on the London Shadows case. 

 

“Can we compare notes later? Sherlock?” Mack asked. A young man just trying to do well on his first big case. Sherlock nodded. “As long as you promise not to throw it away.” he indicated the ruined notes Enola had saved. 

 

“Oh shite, man, I wondered where those had gone. I’m sorry. I won’t leave that stuff out.” Mack apologized, genuinely. Sherlock couldn’t help but smile a bit. 

 

“I’d appreciate it.” he said. “I’ll text you both later.” 

 

Sherlock continued on towards the other end of the office floor: major crimes and homicide shared. The end rather liked Sherlock and his help, the other not so much. Though, Lestrade did try. Not always successful in his tries to get the others to work with Sherlock. 

 

As her got closer; Sherlock heard the current lecture on the case. 

 

“No hairs, or fingerprints…” Lestrade was saying to the group gathered around a whiteboard presenting the evidence of the case. Sherlock hadn’t been noted by anyone but Lestrade when he strode into the NSY wing that held Homicide. Lestrade noted Sherlock walking up and staying out of view of the group facing Lestrade. 

 

Sherlock needed all the information he could get and if he revealed himself before he needed too he wouldn’t get anything until later. So Lestrade continued the lecture. 

 

“We have five bodies lying on the street and the public wants us to catch the man doing it.” Lestrade said angrily. “And you lot are so caught up in your own pride that you can’t work with the evidence in front of you!” 

 

He jabbed a finger at the evidence board standing behind him. No suspects, limited evidence because someone had contaminated their only blood sample. The women nameless. Somehow, Sherlock found that was wrong. Emotions should be beyond him. But he surged forwards and bypassed Lestrade. Not saying a word as he tore down Yellow signs saying “Victim 1” and so on. And on note cards replaced them with names. 

 

“Sharon Tate* and her unborn child murdered in their home, at least four aggressors, she was beaten badly, and died from her injuries.” Sherlock said, aggravated. “Matilda Hem, ambushed outside her flat building, dragged into bushes, brutally raped and beaten.” he placed the name tag onto the board and went through the other three victims. 

 

“Janice Bennard, American, newly married to her husband who has citizenship here, and so she changed it. She was attacked in her own home after her husband had left for the day. It took them all day to finally kill her.” the name went up. 

 

“Fanny Lane, an unfortunate name. She lived alone with her cats, she was mildly depressed and worked at the local grocery store. She was found drowned in her bathtub when the water ran over and finally leaked into the downstairs flat. Raped as well.” 

 

“And finally, Victoria Groom, a young girl of fourteen who snuck out of her parents house to see a show with her friends. They got separated in the crowds and no doubt she was afraid that she’d not get home before her parents woke, so took an offered ride by the same people who murdered her.” Sherlock turned back to the room. 

 

“I don’t care what you think of me, say all the nasty names you want, but you’re going to need my help if you want the people who did this.” 

 

“Don’t you mean person?” Anderson spoke up. 

 

“No, I mean People, plural,” Sherlock corrected. “AND that is why you haven’t caught anyone. Because they aren’t that stupid.” 

 

“Oh but you think you can do it?” Sally scoffed. 

 

“If I could trust you lot to take evidence the correct way, I would have done so three days ago. But seeing as how Anderson let his stupidity get in the way, that didn’t happen.” Sherlock said. Appalled at how the two were acting and emboldening the rest. 

 

“Alright, alright, get to work you lot. Sherlock, my office.” Lestrade took his elbow and as gently as he could lead Sherlock away from the group. 

 

~*~*~*~

 

Lestrade sighed; “did you have to do it that way?” 

 

“Apparently because you weren’t doing the job.” Sherlock rolled his eyes. “The sooner they think of the girls as people the better. What was up there before was disgusting.” Sherlock said and he was right. Lestrade knew it and nodded. 

 

“Fine, but what are you here for?” he asked. 

 

Sherlock put the folder he’d been holding on the desk, he had put it down briefly when he put the names up on the evidence board and had grabbed it when Lestrade escorted him to the office. 

 

“I do not appreciate my notes on a different case being taken and tossed out for no reason. Especially when the Detective Inspector in charge asked specifically for me to make him notes on the case.” Sherlock glared. 

 

“It’s put that case to a stand still.” 

 

“The London Shadow case?” 

 

“Indeed.” 

 

“You aren’t allowed to work with other divisions.” 

 

“That is not what my contract states and you know it. I am at the disposal of the NSY if I think the case is interesting and since the Shadow* is leaving me pieces of a puzzle I can’t just ignore the case.” 

 

“Puzzle?” 

 

“He’s….” Sherlock took a deep breath and sighed. “Flirting with me.” 

 

“What? Like that Moriarty bloke?” 

 

Sherlock frowned; “That was different, he’s backed off. For whatever reason he isn’t playing his games with me. I think The Shadow had a hand in it. I’ve been thinking about it for a very long time.” Sherlock said. “And I got an insight last night while watching the news on the newest stolen object.” 

 

“So?” 

 

“So? You aren’t going to tell your horrible lot to keep their grubby hands off another Officer’s notes for a case you have no business in?” 

 

“Oh, I’ll take it up with HR.” 

 

“You won’t.” Sherlock replied. “I know you won’t. Because you don’t want to deal with their shit. They close enough cases that they get away with this tripe. I’m done. Lestrade. I’ll solve the Murders, but if you don’t keep them in line I will.” 

 

Lestrade knew when he was beat. So he nodded. “I’ll speak with them.” 

 

“I’ll have The Government speak with them.” Sherlock hated bringing his brother into this. But, sometimes mentioning a high up official who had a propensity for protecting his younger family member and making sure Sherlock was duly distracted worked in his favor. 

 

“Fine, fine, the won’t go near any more of your notes.” Lestrade agreed. 

 

“Thank you.” Sherlock nodded. Then talk turned to the case of the murders and how the group were picking out their victims. 

 

~*~*~*~

 

Mack and lent over Sherlock’s knew notes which he had emailed to them once he had left NSY; this way they couldn’t be binned. “I loved his handwriting though.” 

 

Isaac nodded; “It’s that boarding school thing.” 

 

Both were entirely to entranced by Sherlock for their own good, and that’s what got the attention of Anderson as he walked by; “Why are you bothering with the Freak?” he asked annoyingly. 

 

“I don’t know, maybe because he’s smart, and he puts up with your stupid shite.” Mack rolled his eyes. “And besides that, our perp wants Holmes on a silver platter….” 

 

Isaac kicked him under the table; “shut up, mate.” he hissed. 

 

“Who would want to have that druggie?” Anderson scoffed. 

 

“He’s clean, he has to take a drug test every day.” Mack replied. 

 

“That doesn’t mean he can’t skew the results.” Anderson shook his head. 

 

“Whatever. Fuck off back to your crimes, you ghoul.” Mack gave him the middle finger. 

 

“Fuck you.” Anderson replied but moved on to the employee lounge for some bad coffee and whatever he had put in his lunch bag that morning. 

 

“What do you think Donovan sees in that blighter?” Isaac asked. 

  
“I want to know how his wife can ignore all the signs they’re shagging.” Mack grumbled. “Oh,” he looked back at the email. “Sherlock wants to set up a sting.”   
  


“We’ve tried that.” Isaac said. 

 

“Yeah, BEFORE we asked for Sherlock’s help. He’ll be able to help us plan it better.” Mack smiled. 

 

d

  
  



End file.
